The Hope Affair
by Kei
Summary: Based on real events Napoleon and Illya are put on alert when the U.S. suffers a terrorist attack.


Title: The Hope Affair (1/1)

Author: Kei

Fandom: the Man From UNCLE

Rating: M

Pairing: Napoleon and Illya

Disclaimer: I do not own either the show or the MFU characters; they belong to MGM.

Note: slightly A/U-ish; as are most of my MFU tales, the story and characters are "time-shifted" to the present.

**WARNING**: It was suggested that as this tale is based in part on the real tragedies, and might be upsetting therefore, that I give fair warning. I wrote this in rememberance of those that perished and in hope for those that remain.

**The Hope Affair**

**by Kei**

The day had started more pleasantly than most.

The sky had been clear and bright; the temperatures warm without the stifling humidity that had dogged most of the summer months; their vacation had been without incident...

...and Napoleon and Illya had made sweet, sweet love through the previous evening into the wee hours of the night.

All had been right in world.

Then it was not.

They had still been in bed when both agents' communicators had sounded, shrill and loud, breaking into their private heaven. Napoleon had answered first: "Agent Solo speaking. What's up? We still have two days of-" The senior agent's olive-skinned complexion had blanched ash-white -if it was possible, his partner, already fair-toned, had lost what color he had. The report had been succinct: someone, somehow, had crashed an airliner into one of the Twin Towers. A terrorist act on American soil. As of that moment, all UNCLE field operatives were on active duty and on the highest alert.

The report of the second airliner crashing into the other tower came even as both agents were hastily pulling on their clothes. Even as the second report had been completed, a curious sound had broken into the numb daze that had descended upon Napoleon's mind and he realized that Illya had sunken down onto one side of their bed, still half-dressed; his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking. He was crying.

Napoleon had sunken down beside the Russian agent and wrapped his arms around the trembling form. "I know, Illyusha...we have people there...but there's still hope..."

"I know..." had come the shaky reply, "but this will change things."

Illya had been right as usual. Things were changing and not necessarily for the good.

Three other planes had crashed that day, one of them diverted from its target only by the last heroic actions of the hostages onboard the craft. The U.S. was now officially part of a world brotherhood whose only requirement for admission was to be a target for terrorists. People were looking for the guilty party -for some, it didn't matter who.

UNCLE had been ordered to investigate the possibility that their old adversaries, THRUSH, might have been involved, but no, there was no proof of that -and besides Central had actually sent a communiqué to UNCLE, insisting both that they were innocent of this unspeakable horror and that they would offer any aid required to find the criminals that _were_.

For all _their_ word was worth, Napoleon thought as he surveyed his surroundings. Today was his and Illya's first day as part of the volunteer crew at the site of what was once the World Trade Center. He was tired and aching, and it rankled him that his and Illya's purpose here was not allowed to be motivated purely by a desire to help -though the source of this horror had been determined and words of war were in the air therefore, national security had demanded their presence as agents of UNCLE. Despite THRUSH's denials and promises, no-one could bring themselves to believe that their enemy could possibly truly be willing to put aside their animosity for the time-being and freely offer their help.

It was the way of THRUSH to take advantage of situations like this.

"Pst..! Napoleon!" came Illya's whispered voice, muffled by the face mask he wore. "Isn't that..?"

Napoleon's eyes narrowed as he peered through the grime-ridden air and saw what Illya had indicated. There, apparently searching through the rubble, was a familiar figure -a familiar enemy. Warren Blakely was a THRUSH agent of the highest ranking -and he was _here_!? For what -to search for information? To plant something? To cause even more anguish than there already was!? All at once, the senior agent's anger boiled up within him and he reached for his Special as he and Illya stalked over to where Blakely had crouched down, searching.

Napoleon was all but upon the THRUSH agent before the man looked up, stopping him in his tracks. "Blakely, what are you-" Napoleon's rage wavered. The THRUSH agent was clutching a plank of scorched wood, a piece of the debris he was supposed to be helping to clear...and he was crying -William Blakely, premier agent for THRUSH was crying. Blakely shrugged weakly and offered a sad, watery smile. "We lost people too."

Napoleon sighed, anger fading into sadness -he nodded to Illya and they both secured their Specials as they bent to help the THRUSH agent in their common task.

They understood.

---done---


End file.
